


No Change of Season

by FluffyBeaumont



Series: No Change [3]
Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: Cock Tease, Kissing, M/M, Partial Nudity, tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyBeaumont/pseuds/FluffyBeaumont
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Barnabas truly surrender to the promise of Willie's kisses? Or will his elemental guilt bar the way to genuine happiness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Change of Season

**Author's Note:**

> Third instalment of the No Change series: Barnabas is weakening, but not to the point that Willie would like.

Willie was kissing him…and for one glorious moment Barnabas Collins gave himself to that kiss, reaching to hold the young man’s face between his palms. Willie was life, glorious and throbbing, an unabashed heat that burned the skin and seared the palate. Let it go on, Barnabas thought; yes, let it go on and on forever— _Rape…what you did to him._ It wasn’t Julia Hoffman’s voice this time but his own. _What you did to him was rape…_ “No!” He pulled away, getting up quickly, putting as much distance between himself and Willie as possible. He retreated till some ten feet of empty space lay between them, and still there was no safety. “I…I must ask you to forgive me, Willie. I should not have taken advantage of you. Such behaviour is abominable, to say the least.”

”What do you mean, Barnabas?” Willie, confused, made as if to follow him. “We were just—“

”Stay there.” Barnabas raised his hand, warding him off. “Please, Willie.” Already the guilt and misery were flooding in, dismantling his senses. He understood this was his punishment, the price he was beholden to pay for the lives that he had taken. “I…cannot.” He turned and fled.

 

 

Willie was hard at work when Barnabas arose the next evening; he found the young man at the end of the upstairs corridor, bent over a section of decorative wainscoting. Barnabas stood nearby and watched as Willie’s chisel slowly and laboriously coaxed a design of vines and flowers out of the tender pine. “Where did you learn to do that, Willie?”

”This?” He turned the slender chisel so only one edge touched the wood. “Guy I knew in the merchant marine showed me how to do it. Tug, we used to call him. His old man was a woodworker from Belgium, taught him everything he knew.” He tapped the end of the chisel lightly with the hammer and a thin flake of pine fell away, revealing a delicate petal. “Yeah, time used to get a bit long between ports so he’d always be whittling away at something. You like it?”

Barnabas extended a hand. “May I?”

Willie grinned. “Of course. It’s your house.”

_No,_ Barnabas wanted to say, _it’s_ our _house_ , but that sounded too much like the sort of promise he wasn’t yet prepared to make. He touched the design with the tip of a finger; the unsanded wood bit ever-so-slightly into his skin. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant. “It’s really lovely.”

Willie flushed with pride. “Thanks, Barnabas. That means a lot, comin’ from you. Here—“ He indicated a section of wainscoting further back on the wall. “Take a look at this one. This part here’s already done.” The motif of vines and flowers had been carefully sanded to a silken finish and sealed with a protective coat of varnish. The petals were flawless, satiny, so perfectly delineated that they might have exuded fragrance. “I might do some of that over again. I wasn’t sure and I think it shows. I was just gettin’ started there. It shouldn’t be as rough as that.”

”Rough?” Barnabas shook his head, smiling. “Willie, there are tradesmen residing in the great cities of the world who would give up their immortal souls for even a soupçon of your talent.”

Willie blinked. “A…what? A…Sioux sun? What’s that mean?”

Barnabas bit his lip. _Don’t you dare laugh at him._ “It’s a French word. It means ‘a tiny portion’.” He brushed the pattern with his finger. “Willie, would you like a brandy?”

”A tiny portion, huh? Sure, Barnabas, I’ll drink with you. Just let me put my things away and I’ll be right down.”

 

 

In the drawing room, Barnabas added another hefty log to the fire and stirred the embers so the new wood might catch. The November winds were roaring down the chimney, rattling the damper, and he remembered how Sarah had always been afraid of that sound. She’d insisted on drinking her evening milk beside him, so he could protect her from the monsters she fervently believed were living in the chimney. His father, Joshua, blamed Ben Stokes for filling her head with what he called “fanciful nonsense” but Barnabas knew the sorts of things that lived and breathed by night. He had survived Angelique, after all – more or less. _Ah, Sarah…my poor, dear Sarah. I am the only monster in this house._

”Hey, Barnabas, I can get busy with the wallpaper in that second bedroom if you want. The light’s not good enough to do anymore of the wainscoting tonight, but it should be okay to hang the paper.” Willie appeared on the stairs, brushing wood dust from his apron. “Then tomorrow I can go into town and pick up the paint for the trim. Shouldn’t be too hard to get something that matches the paper, or we can just go with white.” 

Barnabas bade him sit down by the fire and poured glasses of brandy for them both. He smirked, thinking of how fervently Roger guarded the decanter at the new house: he’d been furious every time Jason McGuire helped himself, but wouldn’t condescend to speak about it. That was Roger: rigorously correct, supposing it gave him a stroke. “No, Willie, you’ve done enough work for today.” 

”Are you sure? Because I could always—“

”I’m sure.” Barnabas indicated the settle. “Pull in by the fire and warm yourself. It’s another cold night.” 

For a while they spoke in a desultory fashion of minor things: the business of the house, its renovations, Willie’s deft hand with the woodwork. Barnabas found reasons to compliment him, and inquired about his ideas for the room that had been Naomi Collins’. Eventually, however, he exhausted his store of polite anecdotes, and a silence fell between them. 

”You aren’t gonna talk about it.” Willie’s voice was quiet. “Are you?” He kept his gaze on the contents of his glass. 

”Willie, I—“

”Yeah, that’s what I figured.” The younger man’s voice was flat, and his expression was resigned. “Shoulda known. It’s my own damn fault. Jason used to always tell me I was real good at oversteppin’ myself.” He laid down his glass and rose. “I’ll go up and get started on the wallpaper.” 

_He is the best friend you have._ Barnabas didn’t need to add, _the only friend you have_ , even though he knew it was true. “Willie.” He caught hold of Willie’s shirt. “Please.” 

”Please _what_ , Barnabas?” Willie extracted the cloth from Barnabas’ grip. “Please, what? Please stay and keep you company? Please keep on being…whatever it is I am to you?” He was angrier than Barnabas had ever seen him: a bone-deep fury that bespoke a lifetime’s worth of regret and pain. “So what am I to you, Barnabas, huh?” His fists clenched. “Besides convenient.” 

His anger – so potent, so utterly beautiful – struck Barnabas like a physical blow. He took two steps forward and caught his servant by the upper arms. “Willie.” His mouth hovered an inch above the younger man’s slightly parted lips. “You are so much…more to me than merely that.” 

”Yeah?” Willie’s gaze lingered on the vampire’s mouth. He swallowed hard. “Show me.” 

Their bodies… _collided_ \- there was no other suitable description for it, Barnabas thought, even as Willie’s mouth plundered his and Willie’s hands worked themselves under his silk smoking jacket. They clung together, blind and deaf, two beings joined by touch alone. It had been so long – years that felt like centuries – since he had allowed himself any form of intimate congress with another. He groaned as Willie’s mouth left his and travelled to his neck, licking and sucking. _Yes, touch me like that…oh God, please touch me…_

Willie pulled away, holding Barnabas back. “Barnabas.” His voice was husky. “I gotta ask.” His hands tightened on the vampire’s forearms. “Are you sure this is what you want?” 

”What I want…?”

Willie’s brow creased. “Me, I mean.” 

”Yes.” Barnabas blinked. “Of course I want you. How could you doubt it?” 

”Alright.” The younger man grinned. “Just thought I’d made sure, you know.” He leaned in and kissed Barnabas again, a sweet and lingering caress, and whispered in the vampire’s ear: “I’ll be in my room. Why don’t you meet me there in a couple minutes, huh?” 

”In your room?” Barnabas clung to him, not wanting to let him go for even a moment. 

”Five minutes,” Willie said. “You won’t regret it.” He cupped the other man’s cheek in his hand, drew his thumb along the vampire’s lower lip. “Five minutes, Barnabas.” 

”Five minutes,” Barnabas agreed – but Willie had already gone. 

 

 

A rogue draft on the upper floor of the old house had blown out his candle, but no matter: Barnabas knew his way along these corridors, would always know his way here. This place was now and forever his home, the one place where he had been loved, cared for and protected. He paused at the door to Willie’s room and waited, listening. He raised his hand to knock—

 

 

Willie lay in bed, naked except for a sheet that rode low around his hips. He’d lit the courting candle and kindled up the fire and the entire room was bathed in a warm glow. He waited, listening intently, his whole being straining to hear that footfall on the stairs, that familiar tread he knew so well. “Barnabas?” 

The footsteps paused outside his door and Willie fancied he could hear Barnabas breathe. He leaned forward, crumpling the sheet in his fists. “Barnabas?” Surely the knock on his door would come any moment now. Surely Barnabas was standing there, waiting. Surely he wanted this as much as Willie did. 

The floorboards creaked under the vampire’s shifting weight. The footsteps retreated, growing more and more faint until they died away completely. Willie shivered in a sudden cold chill. “Barnabas?” 

There was, of course, no answer. 


End file.
